


(Nothing Worth Loving Isn't) Askew

by Neffectual



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is Inhuman, Hot Fuzz quotes, M/M, Tentacles, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, acne, self-conscious Carlos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos is self-conscious. Cecil helps him see past it.</p>
<p>Title from the Lemon Demon song of the same name. Written post-convention, in sleep-deprived agony, so I apologise for any mistakes.  Hot Fuzz quotes because I know Lisa likes them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Nothing Worth Loving Isn't) Askew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lavellington](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavellington/gifts).



Carlos’ bathroom is much like a lab, in essence, Cecil thinks, the first time he gets a good look at it. Lots of black pots with interesting labels, weird creams and lotions, a lot of hair product – who knew? – and weird devices which looked like they might be for rubbing mice. Cecil wasn’t sure, his own bathroom was devoid of anything bar a fine-toothed comb, and that was really only for show, he kept the stuff for cleaning his suckers hidden away in a locked box, it was difficult to get hold of without having to answer very personal questions from inquisitive veterinarians. Of which there was one in Night Vale, and she hadn’t been the same since helping Khoshekh deliver his kittens. But Carlos, perfect Carlos, had a bathroom overflowing with product and tubs and little scrubby devices – clearly he had a better supplier, because some of these things looked like they were probably special order.  
“Cecil, are you – ” comes the worried voice of his beau, and Cecil stops pondering where one might get their hands on a mail order catalogue in Night Vale, and instead remembers that it is rude to snoop, and lets himself back out of the bathroom, into Carlos’ hallway.  
“Perfectly fine, Carlos,” he says, smiling a little too wide, and remembers why he’d popped into the bathroom into the first place, as his teeth seemed to shift into the smile, “Just... curious, is all.”  
Carlos blushes, and he’s on the couch as Cecil walks back into the living room, curled into almost a ball, the movie paused, and Cecil feels something at his back writhe, and chokes down the urge to just manifest properly. It has been months since he’s had a good stretch, and the idea of having one here, now, with Carlos, who could scratch that spot he could never reach, and maybe help him with shedding – but how can he ever show that to Carlos, perfect Carlos with his perfect hair and his perfect smile and his perfect human shape?

It takes three more dates for Carlos to twig that Cecil is spending an awful lot of time in the bathroom, and having ruled out unfortunate stomach complaints, realises what he is doing.  
“You want to know about the creams.” He says, with a heavy sigh, and Cecil’s so taken aback by the look on his face that he nearly brushes it all off, laugh about it, makes up something else to talk about. But he’s curious, and curiosity is only dangerous for felines, right, and he can’t bring Khoshekh out of the men’s bathroom, so he should be safe. They’re at the ice cream place, and Carlos, perfect Carlos, bought him a cone. Cecil chose vanilla, out of a long-buried desire to be accepted, most likely, or because lemon sorbet and sugar cones didn’t work together, and blood orange was just close enough to blood-coloured to upset his delicate Carlos.  
“No, no, I just... well... maybe.” He hedges, in the hope that this won’t offend Carlos too much, “I just don’t understand why someone so perfect has so many products. What are they all for?”  
Carlos smiles a thin, narrow smile, and Cecil is incredibly grateful for the nameless horror which swoops down and grabs his ice cream, rendering Carlos into scientific mode, whipping out a forbidden notebook and pen as Cecil’s protective instincts rise and he has to dig his fingers into his wrist to avoid manifesting and grabbing the thing, which, now he thinks about it, looked a lot like his Auntie Jackie's sister's brother's boy. Carlos grabs him by the hand – the hand, and his skin is so smooth and soft, so delicate and perfect that Cecil nearly weeps at the sensation, and lets the scientist drag him along after the creature currently eating his ice cream.  
“What the hell are you?” Carlos asks, when the thing slows down and pants for what passes for breath in Night Vale on a corner.  
“Hi Cecil.” The thing says, and shudders until he’s properly tucked away and looks human again.  
“You know...him?” Carlos asks, perfect brow wrinkling in confusion.  
Cecil takes Darz’al aside and explains things hurriedly, and manages to pass it off as a family joke. He doesn’t, however, get a new ice cream, but as they walk back to Carlos’ place, the scientist puts an arm around his waist, and Cecil just knows his fronds want to be out and glowing violet, but instead, he simply trills a little as Carlos nuzzles into his neck.  
“Was that you?” he asks.  
“I can stop.” Cecil says, immediately, “It was just...”  
“That’s adorable.” Carlos finishes, and nuzzles him again. This time the noise is a little louder, and perhaps, eventually, under torture, Cecil would admit that a bit of it is for show. Carlos makes a noise which is a low rumble of a purr, and Cecil’s hearts flutter in delight.  
“Did you want to... come in?” Carlos asks, but Cecil’s wrangling his tentacles and just knows he’ll manifest if he goes inside.  
“No.” He says, and then almost runs off into the deep orange-violet of a Night Vale evening.

Carlos doesn’t call. Cecil can’t really blame him, sometimes people just don’t call, but... it hurts. And he knows it’s all his fault, which is even worse, because Carlos, beautiful, perfect Carlos invited him in, and he said no. Who knows what they could have been doing if his confounded body would just listen to him, or if he had a human body and wouldn’t scare Carlos off. It takes three days, and then Cecil breaks, and digs his phone out of the pocket dimension he’d exiled it to when it became apparent Carlos was not going to be calling.  
“I had acne.” Are the first words out of Carlos’ mouth, and Cecil takes a moment to connect the dots.  
“But you have perfect – ”  
“That’s why all the lotions and creams and scrubs. Because if it comes back, then... then I won’t even leave the house. I can’t.”  
Cecil puts the phone down, then realises this could be seen as a rejection, but hurries over to Carlos’ house anyway, past the Dog Park, waving at the hooded figure reading a newspaper.  
“You’re perfect.” He says, when Carlos opens the door.  
“I’m not – ”  
“You’re perfect, and I love you, and nothing is ever going to change that.” Cecil says, firmly, and leans in to kiss the scientist. Carlos freezes for a second, before he kisses back. “Not even if you were covered in plague boils.”  
Carlos laughs.  
“Somehow,” he says, between kisses, “You always know the right thing to say.”

Six months later, Carlos has a blemish, just a little rising, pink bump on the side of his nose. Cecil ignores it, and Carlos doesn’t even seem to notice it. When it’s gone, Cecil trills for his boyfriend, happy for him, and wraps his tentacles around him. To be fair to Carlos, he only screams once.


End file.
